


Cheerleader Camp

by wheel_pen



Series: Daisy [31]
Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Naughtiness, Vampire Violence, grossness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-11 13:01:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/799023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Damon’s mind, there is only one reason a cheerleader camp exists. Better still if Elena is attending it. “Good evening. My name is Damon and I’ll be your assailant tonight.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cheerleader Camp

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Daisy, my original character, moved to Mystic Falls about a year ago. There is something special about her.
> 
> 2\. This series begins with the first season of the TV show and completely diverges about halfway through the first season. Facts revealed later on the show might not make it into this series.
> 
> 3\. Underage warning: This series may contain human or human-like teenagers, in high school, in sexual situations.
> 
> 4\. The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate being able to play in this universe.

            Damon paused briefly as he passed the living room, surprised—and yet not—to see his brother sitting at the table. Stefan was scratching away on a piece of paper diligently and flipping through pages in a novel; Damon had bare feet, no shirt, and tousled hair. It was pretty obvious what both were—or had recently been—up to.

            “Are you seriously sitting at home on a Friday night doing homework?” Damon mocked, proceeding into the kitchen.

            “ _Seriously_ ,” Stefan agreed, making fun of his brother’s tone. He heard Damon opening the fridge and cabinets, shoving things around and knocking them over, and stifled a sigh. “I’m trying to come up with a new interpretation of _To Kill a Mockingbird_. Any thoughts?”

            “Is that the one with the scary bird that won’t shut up?” Damon asked, his voice echoing slightly from inside a cabinet.

            “Never mind,” Stefan decided.

            Damon didn’t really care anyway. “Hey, what does Elena like to eat after sex?” he asked.

            “None of your business,” Stefan replied flatly.

            Damon’s tone contained mock-offense, as though his question had been perfectly innocent. “I’m just trying to keep Daisy’s strength up,” he protested, tossing something in a box over his shoulder. “You don’t want her to pass out from low blood sugar, do you?”

            “Like that would stop you,” Stefan muttered.

            Damon heard this perfectly well and smirked. “What?”

            “Try something high in calories,” Stefan suggested helpfully, more for Daisy’s benefit than his brother’s.

            “What?” Damon repeated, as though he had no idea what Stefan was talking about.

            And why should he, really? “Try the Pop-Tarts,” he clarified.

            “Pop-Tarts,” Damon muttered, picking up the box from the floor where he’d previously discarded it.

            “You have to toast—“

            “I know what Pop-Tarts are!” Damon called back with irritation and Stefan rolled his eyes. “J---s, I watch TV,” he muttered under his breath.

            “Use the _light_ setting,” Stefan explained anyway.

            Damon busied himself messing with the toaster. “So where’s your girlfriend, anyway?” he asked, appearing in the living room doorway again. “Why has she left you home alone like a loser?”

            Stefan felt that explaining would give his brother a little too much to think about. But if he didn’t tell him now, Damon would spend the rest of the evening worming it out of him using ever more outrageous methods. “She’s at the cheerleader camp in Neoga this weekend,” he admitted, bracing himself.

            Damon didn’t disappoint, as his eyes widened and then seemed to fill with all kinds of thoughts that made Stefan profoundly uncomfortable. “Cheerleader camp, huh?” he purred. Stefan turned back to his homework, trying to ignore him. “Cheerleaders from miles around gathering together to… prance around in their underwear and smack each other with pillows,” he envisioned, mimicking the smacking motion.

            “I don’t think girls really do that,” Stefan countered, glad Damon had shared one of his _milder_ fantasies.

            “Don’t spoil my dream,” Damon ordered. “Now, what they’re _really_ probably doing is—“

            Stefan sniffed suddenly. “Is that smoke?” In a flash both brothers whooshed into the kitchen, where a thin trail of black smoke was rising from the toaster. Gingerly Stefan pressed the lever, ejecting two blackened Pop-Tarts from the appliance.

            “That’s not how they look on TV,” Damon observed.

            “I told you to put it on _light_ ,” Stefan chided, disposing of the ruined food in the trash. He had to step over several boxes of household supplies to do so and tried to remain calm.

            “I _did_ ,” Damon insisted. He knew how to work a toaster, for G-d’s sake. They had to keep up appearances, after all. “See, the knob’s pointing at the white piece of bread,” he said, indicating the icon on the toaster.

            Stefan blinked as a perfect storm of illogic suddenly washed over him. “That’s the _high_ power setting,” he explained, even as he felt his grasp of the concept rapidly slipping away. “It’s… _full_. _This_ is the light setting.” He pointed to the other icon, which he had always thought of as the empty outline of a piece of bread against the black background of the toaster. However, suddenly he realized it could also be seen as—

            “That’s a _black_ piece of toast,” Damon opined. “It’s _burned_. So that should be the _high_ setting.”

            “It isn’t.”

            “That’s stupid.”

            After a moment Stefan agreed. “Yeah, you’re right.” And now he was never going to remember which way was correct, perfect recall or not.

            As usual Damon didn’t let it trouble him. He picked up the Pop-Tarts box and started to read the fine print. “Can these be eaten raw?”

            “Yes,” Stefan assured him, starting to pick up some of the boxes Damon had gotten out. Damon didn’t take the hint, of course; instead he just got down a plate, dumped two uncooked Pop-Tarts onto it, and headed back upstairs. “Are you gonna clean up this mess?” Stefan called after him, futile though it was.

            “Sure,” Damon promised from the stairs. “Later.” In the kitchen, Stefan mouthed the word at the same time, rolling his eyes. He continued putting things away on his own.

            Upstairs, Daisy was lying in bed with her eyes closed, but that didn’t stop Damon from crawling on top of her and pressing his lips down on hers. She made a noise of protest at first but soon warmed to his attentions, running her fingers vigorously over whatever skin she could reach.

            It took him a couple minutes to remember his original purpose and finally he pulled away, sitting back on his knees with one leg on either side of her. “I brought you some food,” he announced benevolently, placing the plate on her chest.

            She looked at it dubiously. “Pop-Tarts?”

            He feigned hurt. “That’s what Stefan feeds _his_ pet human.”

            Daisy gave in and reached for one. “They’re… cold,” she observed, trying not to be _too_ critical.

            “Toasters are stupid,” Damon shrugged obscurely. He seemed very interested in her food consumption, so Daisy broke off a corner of the optimistically-named toaster pastry and ate it. Satisfied, Damon asked, “Are you going to go back to sleep?”

            Her eyes flickered up and down him, lingering on his already unbuttoned jeans just begging to be helped along. She was sorely tempted to say no. Then she sighed. “I probably should,” she admitted in defeat.

            “Okay,” he agreed with surprising ease. “I’m gonna go out and grab a bite, then.” Perhaps not so surprising, as sex and food were _both_ so high on his list of priorities.

            “You should take a shower first,” Daisy suggested as he climbed off the bed, “or they’ll smell you coming.” He made a face at her but veered off to the bathroom.

            By the time he came back out, Daisy was asleep again, having left only crumbs on the plate. He dressed quietly, tucked her in, and took the plate away with him. Then he hid it in Stefan’s room, as far back under the bed as he could, where he hoped it would attract vermin. In case Stefan wanted a midnight snack sometime, you see. Then he let himself out via the window, leaving his brother working away quietly downstairs.

 

            If people envisioned cheerleader camp as a hive of queen bees trying to out-command one another via the precision movements of their troops—well, they were right. Elena had only been in attendance a few hours and already she was exhausted. Not physically—although her lack of summer practice was embarrassingly obvious at this point—but mentally, emotionally, socially. She didn’t think she had been a shallow girl before, but maybe she had been more eager to please, more invested in overlooking the faults in other girls in the name of forging social bonds.

            But now it just didn’t seem so important, after her parents’ deaths, her brother’s problems, that whole minor vampire thing. She still enjoyed _some_ aspects of the activity, but she found she had far less tolerance for the prima donnas and the mean girls. She almost felt sorry for them, actually.

            That didn’t mean, of course, that she was okay with them becoming supernatural snack food.

            Elena drew in a sharp breath when she came upon a familiar figure biting down on the upper arm of a woozy girl from another school, which caused him to snap his head up immediately. Luckily she wasn’t a screamer. For a second Damon faked being surprised, mocking her reaction, then wiped some blood off his face and said, “No, really, this was pretty inevitable.”

            They were in some kind of pass-through/storage closet, where Elena had gone for a few minutes of solitude, and even though _she_ had technically stumbled upon _him_ , it was clear his presence at the hotel was no accident. Anger started to wash over her, outright fury at the way he dogged her, jabbed at her, carelessly hurt people and left them bobbing in his wake—and then she saw the two bodies lying on the floor and horror shot through her heart.

            “They’re not dead,” Damon assured her quickly, if that could be called an assurance. “I’m just nibbling.” He licked the blood off his fingers and let the girl he was holding drop haphazardly to the floor with the others.

            “Damon—you can’t—“ Elena began in outrage, while he stood there watching her with an obnoxious expression, waiting for her to come up with some pearl of wisdom.

            “It’s a cheerleader camp,” he stated, as if it obviously served no other purpose than to feed and entertain him.

            Elena knelt down to check the girls on the floor, who all seemed to be unconscious but alive. He crouched down to watch, fascinated by her concern. “I didn’t get anyone from _your_ school,” he pointed out, as though she would consider this thoughtful on his part.

            She gave him an icy glare. “What do you think you’re doing?” she snapped. “You can’t just go around _biting_ people and—throwing them in a corner—“ And if he thought that was okay, she didn’t know how to explain otherwise.

            “Don’t worry about the cover story,” he responded helpfully, completely missing her point. “They were in here getting wasted—see the beer bottles?—and they hurt themselves while they were drunk. And they blacked out and don’t remember much.”

            “What were they doing?” Elena asked acidly, lifting up the arm of the latest girl, with its perfect oval of teeth marks. “Daring each other to _act_ like vampires?”

            Damon’s eyes widened. “That’s a _great_ idea,” he responded, slightly awed. He smeared his fingers through some of the still-wet blood and then reached towards the girl’s mouth.

            Elena yanked his arm away, appalled. “Stop it! You’re disgusting!”

            In one swift movement Damon stood, bringing her up with him and twisting their hands so _he_ held _her_. He jerked her face closer and smirked dangerously, his teeth still reddish with blood. “I’m not done snacking,” he told her, drawing out each word as a warning. “So maybe, you’d like to go.” He released her with a mild shove, encouraging her to exit through the door she’d entered. When she just stood there, rubbing her arm and debating what else she could do about him, he shrugged dismissively and turned away.

            He opened the other door a crack, surveying the conference room full of nubile teenage girls and choosing his next victim. After a minute he stepped back and opened the door a little wider, just enough for a striking brunette to slip in. Elena jumped back behind some shelving, not wanting the girl to think she was part of this circus of horrors, but she needn’t have worried—the girl was already mesmerized, stumbling and giggling as though drunk.

            “It’s okay, it’s okay,” Damon lied to her, chuckling along as he held her up. “You and your friends came in here to party, and you dared each other to pretend to be vampires and bite each other. You girls are really pretty sick, by the way,” he added, and the girl’s expression fell, “and when you wake up you’re gonna be so ashamed you won’t want to tell anyone about it, ever.” He looked her over critically, appreciating the toned flesh on display in her skirt and tank top. “I guess the neck is traditional, but we could also try…” He started to slide his hand under the strap of her tank top.

            Something cracked him in the head from behind and he turned around in irritation. “Hey—“ Elena swung the mop handle again as hard as she could and he ducked—then reached up to grab it less than an inch from the brunette cheerleader’s face. Elena let go of the mop, aghast at what she’d almost done. “A bloody nose? Not a very appealing way to get my dinner,” he told her, tossing the mop aside. “Imagine warm, delicious chocolate syrup—with _snot_ in it. That’s just gross.”

            “Well you don’t have to be _lewd_ about it!” Elena exclaimed defensively, not referring to the ‘snot’ comment.

            Damon’s eyebrows shot up. “ _Excuse me?_ ”

            “Not that I’m saying it’s okay to bite them—“ she began.

            “Not that you have to,” he interrupted.

            “—but could you at least not _grope_ them, like some despicable frat boy with a package of roofies?!” she finished in outrage.

            Damon gave her a quizzical look, then whooshed towards her and pressed her back against the opposite wall, knocking the breath out of her. “Have _you_ ever been groped by a frat boy?” he asked, his gaze penetrating even though she knew he couldn’t compel her.

            “W-what?” she gasped out.

            “Because if you _have_ , I would find him, and make a meal of him,” Damon vowed, in a voice that made Elena’s blood run cold, “and I would eat… _slowly_.” Wanting nothing so much as for him to back off, Elena shook her head quickly. He straightened up and his tone lightened. “Good. I’m gonna go back and play with my food now, if you don’t mind, Miss Manners.”

            Elena scrambled to the far part of the small room as soon as she was able, her instincts telling her to run out the back door at top speed. She didn’t think he would follow. But she also couldn’t stomach the idea of leaving the other girls here with a monster in their midst.

            “Thigh, breast, or wing?” Damon was muttering to himself indecisively when suddenly Elena’s cell phone rang. He suspected it would be someone else who wanted to ruin his fun.

            And he was right. “ _Is everything okay?_ ” he heard Stefan ask urgently over the phone.

            “No, everything is _not_ okay,” Elena snapped at him, although she knew it wasn’t his fault. “Your brother is here going through cheerleaders like it’s—dollar shots night at the Grill!”

            Damon laughed suddenly. “Hey, that’s a good one,” he complimented. “And quite apt. You are full of the zingers tonight.”

            Elena turned her back on him—possibly dangerous, but necessary for her concentration. And sanity—she didn’t want the image of him gnawing on that girl in her head. “ _Are you okay?_ ” Stefan wanted to know.

            “No, I am _furious_ , and a little freaked out, and—“ Elena heard the girl moan and inadvertently turned to look. “Damon! How does that _not_ count as cheating on Daisy?!” she demanded.

            He swallowed and pulled his head out from under the girl’s skirt. “I am _trying_ to find inconspicuous places to bite them,” he said in a long-suffering tone. “Do you have any ideas? Or do you just want to hit me with more stuff?”

            “ _What did you hit him with?_ ” Stefan wanted to know.

            “A mop handle,” Elena admitted in disgust, spinning around again as Damon dove back under the girl’s skirt.

            “ _Was it sharp?_ ”

            “If only.”

            “ _Well, I’m on my way there right now_ ,” Stefan told her, “ _but I’m in the car, because I’ve got Daisy, so it might be—_ “

            “F—k!” Damon exclaimed suddenly, scrambling away from the dazed girl, who promptly passed out cold on the floor.

            “ _What was that?_ ” said Stefan.

            “What was that?” demanded Elena.

            Damon sat on the concrete floor, wiping blood off his face and this time, flinging it away instead of licking it up. “F—k, f—k, f—k,” he complained, almost whining now.

            “ _What’s wrong with him?_ ” Stefan asked warily.

            “You know, before tampons were invented,” Damon began, and Elena felt the strongest kick of horror and revulsion yet, “it was a _lot_ easier to tell when it was _that time of the month_ , before it was too late.”

            Elena spun to face the wall, trying not to gag. “ _Did he just get a face full of—_ “ Stefan began delicately.

            “Yes!” she squawked. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

            “You remember what I told you about the snot in the chocolate syrup?” Damon asked, sounding not terribly thrilled himself. “Yeah, it’s like that.”

            “Gross!” Elena understated.

            “I mean, I’m not a cannibal,” Damon went on, seemingly talking more to himself. “All I want is some blood. Just, you know, _only_ blood. No… other stuff.”

            Elena heard a noise on the phone. “Are you _laughing_?” she asked Stefan in a deadly tone.

            “ _Well, I wouldn’t really—_ “

            “It’s not funny!” she insisted, referring to the whole situation.

            “ _No, no, it’s not—well, it kind of is_ ,” Stefan admitted. “ _I mean, not_ really _funny, but—kind of—_ “ He could feel Elena’s glare through the phone. “ _That was Daisy laughing_ ,” he decided to claim, survival instincts kicking in.

            Damon rolled his eyes and started to stand. “I’d call you a p---y right now,” he told his brother through Elena’s phone, “but that doesn’t seem very funny at the moment.” He could hear Stefan laughing even though he tried to muffle it; Damon hoped darkly that Elena could hear it, too.

            But apparently she couldn’t. “How far away are you?” she asked, trying to compose herself.

            “ _About half an hour_.”

            “I can’t just _leave_ him here,” Elena told him, although that was going to be Stefan’s suggestion. “I mean, he’s just _dumping_ these girls in a pile with some story about how they all got drunk—“

            “ _Oh, they’re still alive_ ,” Stefan realized suddenly.

            But somehow, that was the wrong thing to say. “You thought he was _killing_ them all this time?” she said coldly. “You thought I would’ve let him kill _four people_ and not tried to stake him through the heart?”

            “That’s one of those trick questions,” Damon warned his brother helpfully. “Like, ‘Does my butt look fat in this?’ There’s no right answer.”

            “ _No, no_ ,” Stefan insisted, not exactly sure what he was saying ‘no’ to. “ _I just… didn’t want you to get hurt._ ” Although his answer wasn’t exactly on point, it seemed to mollify Elena somewhat.

            “Well, he’s done four girls already—“ she started to repeat, then heard the door opening and turned around. “Damon! Another one? Are you insane? How many—“

            “Would you _mind_ not _screaming_?” he snapped testily, shutting the door with yet another dazed cheerleader leaning against the wall before him. “I’m trying not to attract attention. Anyway, I have to get that _taste_ out of my mouth…”

            “ _Twenty minutes_ ,” Stefan promised, knowing Damon could well be done and gone by then. “ _Can I call you back?_ ”

            Elena sighed. “Okay. I love you.”

            “ _I love you, too_ ,” Stefan replied. “ _Be careful. Please._ ” He hung up.

            Elena was not surprised to see a mocking expression on Damon’s face when she looked at him again. He quickly snapped back to the lithe blond, though, when she glared at him. “Tequila, vodka, brandy, whiskey,” he decided, pointing at the girls on the floor. “She looks like a scotch, don’t you think?”

            “What am I supposed to say to that?” Elena demanded, angry and exasperated. “Is there any possible thing I could say to make you stop this?”

            He zipped over to her again, and she was getting really sick of the sudden close-ups. “I bet you’d be a scotch,” he murmured in a low voice, looking her over. “Let me have a taste, and I’ll go home.”

            Her eyes widened in surprise—then narrowed in distrust. “Let’s go home first, then we’ll talk,” she countered fiercely.

            He backed off with an obnoxious smirk. “Eh, I wouldn’t have kept that deal anyway,” he admitted blithely. “Good response to the moral dilemma, though. Points for you.”

            “You have something on your nose,” Elena said acidly, “and it’s not _just blood_.”

            “Wow, b---hy much?” he shot back, then turned away and scrubbed furtively at his face. Giving her a disdainful look he went back to his latest victim. “Good evening,” he told the blond with a charming smile, leaning one hand against the wall by her head. “My name is Damon and I’ll be your assailant tonight. Before you drunkenly pass out and forget this ever happened, could you tell me which part of your body you’d like bitten?” He gave Elena a look as if to say, _Happy?_ She rolled her eyes in repugnance.

            “Is this gonna leave a scar?” the blond inquired seriously, in an air-headed tone. “I’m planning to be a model, you know.”

            Damon nodded as though he were terribly interested in this. “I hear the plus-size industry is really hot right now,” he commented encouragingly.

            “ _Plus-size?_ ” the girl repeated with great offense, smacking him across the face. It obviously caught him by surprise.

            Elena’s hand flew up to cover her sudden grin. “I thought you were compelling her,” she checked.

            “So did I,” Damon replied dangerously, slowly facing the girl again.

            “Oh, Damon, don’t,” Elena requested quickly, seeing the murderous look in his eyes. “You _did_ call her fat.”

            He sighed and shook the tension from his shoulders, conceding her point. “You’re gonna need to lose about twenty-five pounds if you want to be a model,” Damon told the blond, as catty as any mean girl as he stared deeply into her eyes. “I suggest you stop eating. And you’d better start weighing yourself several times a day.” With that, he bit down on her neck and took a long drink.

            Elena spun around, squirming at every slurp and gurgle. Finally he pulled back and dumped the girl on the floor. Elena went to check her pulse. “The hidden cause of anorexia,” she commented darkly. “Vampire compulsion.”

            “She’s anemic,” he assessed, licking his lips. “Probably well on her way already.”

            “Are you _done_?” Elena asked coldly, referring to the whole endeavor.

            He paused for thought. “I could go for another. I usually do at least six shots on dollar shots night.” Elena shook her head. “Besides, she wasn’t really the scotch I was hoping for,” he opined. “More of an imported beer. A nice honey hops, granted, but—“ Elena stood and gave him a stony look. “You’re done with the whole alcohol metaphor thing?” he surmised.

            “Uh-huh.”

            “How about fish?” he suggested cheerfully. “I used to love seafood.” He pointed at the unconscious girls again. “Salmon, trout, salted cod—“

            “Do not make a tuna joke right now,” Elena ordered.

            “Please, that would be beneath me,” Damon told her scornfully. “Like groping disoriented teenage girls before biting them.”

            For a second Elena wanted to take that statement seriously. Then she realized that would mean Damon had _standards_ , and thus it couldn’t possibly be true. Even now as he looked over the unconscious bodies of his victims, tossed carelessly on the floor like discarded potato chip bags, the thoughts going across his eyes felt so intensely disturbing to Elena that she unconsciously backed up a step.

            She hit something that moved underneath her foot and she started to lose her balance. Damon caught her and set her back down on her feet, holding on for several moments longer than needed. “Careful,” he warned her insincerely. “There’s beer bottles all over the floor.”

            “And where did _they_ come from?” she asked, more to get him to back up and keep busy than out of any real interest.

            “Oh, I drank them while I was sitting outside in the bushes, watching you girls through the window and selecting my favorites,” he answered easily.

            “Well _that’s_ not creepy.”

            “You wanna help me pick the last one?” he offered suddenly, as though he really thought this was a good idea.

            “ _What?!_ ” Elena sputtered.

            “Come on, there must be some really b---hy girl out there who’s been c------g on you all evening,” he tempted, or _thought_ he tempted. “Probably several, you really s—k as a cheerleader.”

            “Thanks a lot,” she snapped, surprised by how much that stung. Shouldn’t she be more upset at his attempt to spread blame by making her a co-conspirator?

            He also seemed surprised, if less so. “Did I hurt your feelings?” Damon asked, not quite mocking but also not really sincere. “What do you want to be a cheerleader for, anyway? You’re the least enthusiastic person I know, except for Daisy.” Elena prepared to exclaim in indignation again, but Damon kept on going. “’Enthusiastic’ isn’t the right word,” he corrected thoughtfully. “’Exuberant’ is more like it. You just can’t fake the necessary level of mindless hysteria over an insignificant sporting event.”

            Elena blinked at him, slightly confused. “Are you trying to give me a compliment?”

            Damon was also confused. “No. Did that sound like one?” Elena huffed and rolled her eyes. “Seriously, you’ll be out there on the field, bouncing around yelling, ‘Go Wolves!’ and you’ll be thinking, ‘Is my boyfriend getting eaten by a werewolf? Is my best friend getting burned at the stake? Is my boyfriend’s brother turning the concession stand lady into a Slurpee? What would Mommy and Daddy think—‘” Damon ducked as Elena hurled a bottle of some cleaning product at him in fury. It bounced off the door behind him and hit the floor, cracking and spilling everywhere. Fortunately it seemed to be merely some kind of soap, nothing toxic. Then she spun around, putting her back to him and willing herself not to cry—they would be tears of _anger_ , but she didn’t think Damon would get that.

            There was a long silence, to the point where she half-expected not to see him when she turned back around. But he was still there, like he always was whenever she most wished he wasn’t. He was just waiting, an expectant look on his face.

            “Are you gonna say something mean back?” he inquired, almost politely. “Take your time, make it good.”

            “Do you ever stop playing games?” Elena asked, without planning to.

            He raised an eyebrow. “Maybe you should take some _more_ time,” he suggested.

            “I don’t understand how Daisy puts up with you,” Elena said slowly, not as a rant but as a true statement of curiosity. “Are you _nicer_ when it’s just the two of you?”

            She was expecting a sexual remark in response, something about being nice in bed, but instead his lips twisted up into something that wasn’t quite a grin as he assured her, “Daisy isn’t nice. Daisy is very dangerous.” Elena started to scoff. “Look at you, assuming you can trust appearances,” he mocked, but there was a serious undertone that caught her attention. “That’s worked out well for you, hasn’t it?”

            “What’s wrong with Daisy?” Elena asked, the pit of her stomach suddenly cold.

            “I don’t know,” Damon admitted, and Elena rolled her eyes and relaxed the muscles that had gotten suddenly tense, chiding herself for almost falling for another of his games. He didn’t _act_ like it was just a game, though. “I haven’t figured her out yet. But I have a feeling Daisy could kill us all and not bat an eyelash.”

            “Whatever,” Elena sighed, sitting down on the ground as far as possible from Damon and the unconscious girls. She was suddenly exhausted.

            “There must be _something_ wrong with her,” Damon went on, sitting down also, “because after all, she’s with me.”

            “Is this where it comes out that you really just have low self-esteem?” Elena asked flatly, and Damon grinned at her.

            “No, my level of self-esteem is quite healthy,” he assured her, amused at her remark.

            “You don’t… _compel_ her, do you?” Elena asked. She had always wondered, and given the setting, it seemed the most inappropriate time to ask. “It doesn’t _seem_ like you do…”

            Damon smiled a little. The expression contained a surprising hint of sincerity. “No, I don’t. Daisy is uncompellable.”

            “What?” Elena asked in annoyed confusion. Stefan could get here at any time, really, she prompted mentally.

            “Too strong-willed,” Damon replied, sounding slightly rueful.

            “That’s a defense?”

            “If you’re _very_ strong-willed.”

            “Does _she_ compel _you_?” Elena asked dryly.

            “Still working on that one,” Damon revealed. “She _does_ seem to have the ability to manipulate my feelings and actions sometimes. You’ll probably see that in a few minutes.” Elena rolled her eyes at his cheeky tone. There was a pause, and then he asked brightly, “So, how are you and Stefan getting along? Since we’re sharing juicy relationship details.”

            Elena sighed and stifled a yawn. “Well, I think he’s finally getting over the whole ‘lookalike to evil ex-girlfriend who crushed his heart and dumped his a-s’ thing,” she said ironically. “I’m thinking _you_ haven’t yet, though. Maybe _that’s_ what Daisy’s so p----d about. You ever call her ‘Katherine’ at the wrong moment?”

            Damon stared at her. Elena stared right back. “You see what you just did right there?” he asked slowly. “You just did something heartless, and you don’t care if it hurt. It’s a slippery slope. Next thing you know you’ll be tapping cheerleaders in a storage closet.”

            “So you’re really just _tired_?” Elena shot back skeptically. He was right, though—at this moment, she _didn’t_ care if her remark hurt him. But unlike him, she might later.

            Damon shrugged. “There’s more similarities than you’d think. Nothing like eternity to make you realize how boring the world is.”

            “Poor you.”

            “You think boredom is trivial?” he challenged. “Have you ever been stuck somewhere and been so incredibly bored that you were actually _angry_ at the person who had trapped you there, wasting your time? Class comes to mind.”

            Elena was forced to admit she _did_ know that feeling. “I never _killed_ anybody, though,” she felt she ought to point out.

            “That’s because you know that no matter how awful it is, it’s gonna end in about an hour,” Damon claimed. “Just when you’re starting to get all twitchy and fidgety, and things you would never normally think of doing suddenly seem like good ideas—really bad stuff, you know, like throwing spitwads or drawing on the desk”—and yes, he _was_ mocking her, but with a point—“just when you’re starting to lose a _little_ control, the bell rings. And you’re free.” He leaned back against the wall. “Only for me, the bell never rings. I’m just stuck here. And the rules quickly start to mean very little.”

            Elena was quiet for a long moment, thinking this over. There was something about it that made sense—but then again—“Then why doesn’t Stefan act like _you_ do?” she countered.

            Damon rolled his eyes. “St. Stefan, the paragon of vampires,” he said sarcastically. “Your brother’s a bright kid,” he noted by way of example. “Why is he such a screw-up, and you’re Little Miss Perfect? Different personalities. Stefan always had a high capacity for tedium. That’s probably why you guys get along so well.”

            There were so many insults layered in there that Elena didn’t even bother trying to tackle them. There was also a certain logic to it, though—not a justification, but a twisted kind of sense. “So you’re eternally bored, and doing forbidden things like molesting helpless girls temporarily makes you feel better?” she summarized.

            “You have a very charming way of expressing yourself,” he responded wryly. “But you do seem to fixate on this ‘molesting’ thing. Hidden trauma you’d like to discuss? Funny uncle, maybe? Babysitter who liked hugging a little too much?”

            “No,” Elena told him coldly.

            He gave her a narrow look as if assessing her sincerity, then shrugged. “Eating is a sensual experience,” he began.

            “Oh, please.”

            “For humans, too,” he insisted. “Entire industries have sprung up to service humans’ desire for food of beauty and passion, far beyond the necessities of nutrition or even taste.”

            His voice had a low, seductive quality that made Elena want to nod along in agreement. She tried to resist, though. “Humans don’t _fondle_ their food.”

            “No?” He raised an eyebrow. “You never closed your eyes and inhaled the scent of something before eating it? You never put a bite in your mouth and savored the way it crunched or melted, the way it felt when your tongue rolled over it? You never enjoyed the way it felt sliding down your throat, warming your stomach?” Elena suddenly realized she’d closed her eyes and snapped them back open, hand going automatically to her throat to make sure her vervain necklace was still there. She was almost surprised to see that Damon was still on the other side of the room, and not murmuring these somehow indecent things into her ear. He chuckled a little at her reaction. “You can eat thousands of different kinds of food,” he finished, “and I can only eat one. And it tastes _so_ much better than anything I ever ate as a human. Are you saying I shouldn’t enjoy it?”

            She looked away from him and her eyes fell on the girls on the floor—assaulted, injured, humiliated, and abandoned. “You’re not gonna make a convert of me,” she said stonily. “It’s wrong, and you know it, and you don’t care.”

            “I’m _shocked_ to find I agree with you completely,” he replied with a smirk.

            They sat in silence for a few minutes. At first it was blessedly quiet without his constant pokes and jabs that sometimes made her question reality. But then she began to notice how uncomfortable it was sitting on the concrete floor—hard and cold, with the pervasive scent of cleaning products that maybe shouldn’t be inhaled and the soft breathing of a few too many people.

            Naturally she could count on Damon to notice what she’d rather he ignore. “Here,” he said, slipping out of his black leather jacket and starting to bring it to her.

            “Forget it,” Elena snapped, drawing her knees up under her chin for warmth.

            “Oh, what, is my _coat_ a psychopath, too?” he asked with exasperation. “It’s a _coat_ , Elena. Wearing it isn’t a symbol of your repressed lust for me. It just means you’ll be warmer when St. Stefan charges in to the rescue.”

            And when Damon started sounding like the sensible one, Elena knew it was time to give up. She took the coat. “You’ll have to get it dry-cleaned,” she observed flatly, staying away from a suspicious stain on the shoulder.

            “Yeah, I keep the dry-cleaners in business,” he admitted. “But it’s so worth it. That is an authentic motorcycle jacket. I got it in Chicago in 1953. Took it off a biker who was like a proto-Marlon Brando.”

            Elena had to admit she was always curious about the times the vampires had lived through, but she felt weird asking Stefan about it—she didn’t necessarily like the reminder of how old her boyfriend really was. But Damon, on the other hand… And it might keep him distracted from causing any more trouble.

            “What were the ‘50’s like?” she asked. “My grandpa always talks about it like it was paradise.”

            “It was just like _Grease_ ,” Damon avowed. “No, seriously. Lots of white people in cool clothes and cool cars singing and dancing, and everyone else angrily crowding around the edges just outside the frame.”

            “ _Grease_ , huh?” she repeated with skepticism, albeit slightly warmer.

            “Yeah, I was like Kenickie,” he claimed, clearly relishing the memory. “Stefan had a pompadour,” he added, and Elena’s eyes widened. She allowed herself to laugh a little, trying to picture it. “Yeah, he thought he was Troy Donahue or something. The music was awesome, though,” Damon went on, seemingly enjoying the topic. “I like today’s music, too. But it was a huge change in the mid-‘50’s when rock ‘n’ roll went mainstream. You turned on a little Elvis and even the prissiest girl would put out.”

            Elena rolled her eyes. Of course Damon would bring the discussion back to sex. “So you agree with my grandpa, huh?” she teased.

            “H—l, no,” Damon countered. “I like being able to go out with Daisy without people throwing rocks at us.”

            Elena hadn’t considered that and she nodded thoughtfully. After a moment she inquired, “So, do you have any pictures of this alleged pompadour?”

            “Well, I’m sure I—“ Suddenly Damon paused, looking at the door that led to the ballroom, and then he stood and reached for it. “Stefan and Daisy,” he explained to Elena. She was almost knocked flat by relief. “Here’s to you, Troy Donahue,” he sang as the two of them slipped in. “I _know_ what _you_ wanna do!”

            “Okay,” Stefan replied in some confusion. Then the smell hit him. “Holy s—t,” he swore, covering his nose and mouth and turning away from the temptation of the five bodies.

            “Watch your step,” Damon warned Daisy courteously, guiding her around the puddle of soap.

            “You couldn’t find some floorboards to bury them under?” she asked him dryly. She was wearing blue flannel pajamas with little owls on them and did _not_ look too happy to be standing in a crowded storage closet instead of sleeping in bed.

            “Are you okay?” Stefan asked Elena, pulling her up and looking her over carefully. She nodded, but her expression said they had a lot to talk about.

            “And they’re all alive?” Daisy checked, nodding at the girls on the floor.

            “I think one of them suffocated while we were sitting here talking,” Damon deadpanned.

            And Elena found that she had reached her limit. “You sick b-----d!” she said, smacking Damon across the face. Both of the brothers were momentarily stunned by the outburst. “Can’t you even be nice for _five minutes_?”

            “Has it been that long?” Damon wondered. Elena ripped his jacket off and flung it at him violently. “You see what I’ve been stuck with?” he complained to his brother. “You owe me for babysitting her tonight. Who knows how much damage she would’ve done? Poor, innocent cheerleaders…”

            “Let’s go outside,” Stefan redirected quickly, taking Elena’s shoulders and pulling her gently away before she could attempt to kill his brother. Not that he would blame her.

            Damon sauntered after them, out onto a patch of concrete behind the hotel. He leaned in to give Daisy a greeting kiss and she stopped him, wrinkling her nose. “Maybe _after_ you’ve washed your face,” she suggested.

            He glared at her, and at Stefan trying not to laugh. “This is gonna come back, isn’t it?” he predicted, not enjoying the prospect.

            “Oh, only once a month,” Daisy deadpanned.

            “Unless you get pregnant,” Stefan added.

            “What, did you two work on this routine in the car on the way here?” Damon sneered. “I hear there’s some resorts in the Catskills with openings for comedians.”

            Daisy drew her finger down the front of his t-shirt, captivating him instantly, but when she spoke her tone was cold. “Well, you can either find it funny,” she threatened, “or you can explain to me what you were _doing_ that you _made_ the mess.”

            Damon gave this some thought. Then he made a fake laugh. “Ha ha, ‘once a month,’ good one,” he claimed. “Stefan’s s—ked, though. So, anyone want a beer?”

            “We’re going home,” Daisy announced, taking Damon’s arm. “It’s _way_ past my bedtime.” With anyone else, Damon surely wouldn’t have allowed himself to be pulled along, but for Daisy he went without protest. Elena kept a sharp eye on their interactions, thinking back on what Damon had said about her—if that could even be trusted.

            Of course, Damon always had to have the last word. “Elena, thank you for a lovely evening,” he told her obnoxiously. “You might want to get those violent tendencies of yours checked out, though. And Stefan,” he added, deliberately bumping his brother as he went by, “ _great_ idea about the cheerleader camp, thanks!”

            Stefan just rolled his eyes as Damon strolled off, whistling a song from _Grease_ , with Daisy at his side. He turned his attention back to Elena, whom he had wrapped up in his sweater, and pulled her close. “I’m so sorry, sweetie,” he told her. “Are you okay? Really?”

            She really didn’t want to cry, not now, not when it was all over. But tears of anger and exhaustion and confusion started to fill her eyes as she leaned against Stefan, feeling safe and treasured and respected the way she never did with Damon. “He’s just—He’s so—“ she tried to explain.

            “I know,” Stefan agreed.

            “He’s just so _wrong_ ,” she insisted. “Why does he have to be that way? Why can’t he—“

            “That’s his choice,” Stefan replied, rubbing her back gently. “I don’t think he would ever hurt you,” he added, not sure how comforting that would be.

            “No, he’d leave me alive, to see my face when he burned the world down,” Elena muttered, with a force of bitterness that surprised even her. She sighed, trying to let everything from the evening go, and appreciate how much she loved being in Stefan’s arms. “Thank you for coming.”

            “I’m sorry I couldn’t get here faster,” he told her again. “But I thought it was best to bring Daisy along. He seems to listen to her.”

            “I don’t understand them at all,” Elena admitted. “He said—I don’t know. He’s just insane sometimes. And then he turns around and does something nice. For a minute.”

            “Well, he was like that as a human,” Stefan pointed out dryly. “Though not quite so homicidal, I grant you.”

            Elena hugged her boyfriend fiercely for a moment, then pulled back to look at him. “Stefan, will you take me home with you?” she requested.

            His eyes lit up and a smile flashed across his face at her words, which she adored. But then he felt he ought to make certain it was really what she wanted, which she also adored. “Are you sure?” he asked, brushing the hair back from her face. “You won’t miss anything at the camp?”

            “They won’t miss _me_ ,” she replied with a dry little laugh. “I just… I would really like to be with you instead.” That went without saying, of course—but it seemed so much more important tonight, when she needed to wash away the taint Damon had left. She needed Stefan to remind her that not _all_ of their kind had to be like his brother.

            “Okay,” he agreed, smiling again. “Of course.” Then he thought of something. “What if I stayed here at the hotel with you?” he offered. “Or we could call a cab and go to another one here in town.”

            The idea of getting a hotel room with her boyfriend for the weekend was pleasantly thrilling. “Won’t you need… anything?” she asked anyway, because _decent_ people showed consideration for others instead of just seizing on what they wanted themselves.

            “I can run home for anything,” he shrugged, “or buy it here. It’s just that Damon lifted the car keys from me as he left, and I didn’t think you would want to take a bus home tonight.”

            Elena started to get worked up again. “He _what_?!”

            “It’s okay,” Stefan soothed her quickly. “He’s got Daisy to take home… and I left the tank practically empty so he’ll have to get gas, and he hates that. The smell bothers him.”

            He smiled a little mischievously as he said this, and Elena found herself joining in. Because Stefan’s humor didn’t involve really _hurting_ anyone else. “Do you think they have a room with one of those big whirlpools?” she asked. “I could really use a nice, long soak.” And she didn’t mean alone.

            “I bet we can find something,” Stefan promised, starting to walk her back around the hotel.

            She stopped him, suddenly feeling horribly guilty. “What about—“ she began anxiously, glancing back at the door to the storage closet.

            “They’ll wake up in a few hours and remember the story Damon told them,” Stefan replied. “He’s pretty good at covering his tracks.”

            “That’s not what I meant.”

            “I know,” he admitted. “I could have Security check the room, say I saw someone suspicious going in there,” he offered. “That would get them help faster.”

            The idea was appealing, but… “Damon told them they were drunk,” she said, shaking her head. “If they went to the hospital they’d do a blood test and know they hadn’t been drinking. And they’d see the bite marks and… It would raise a lot of questions.” Questions whose answers could hurt Stefan as well as Damon. She sighed in defeat.

            Stefan kissed her temple as he walked her away from the steel door. “They won’t remember anything,” he repeated. But Elena would.

 

            “F-----g Stefan,” Damon muttered, sitting in the driver’s seat of the car with his jacket over his nose. The harsh glow of the gas station lights illuminated him and Daisy as they waited for the tank to fill.

            “It’s almost done,” she warned him, watching the meter, and he got out of the car and finished it off as quickly as possible without raising suspicion. He would get Stefan back somehow—perhaps he could let all the air out of the tires when they got home.

            Daisy waited until they were away from the gas station before broaching the subject. “I did not appreciate Stefan having to wake me up and drag me all the way out here to get you,” she began.

            “Yeah, well, I’m not too thrilled with Stefan either,” Damon agreed obliviously. “He _knows_ I hate that smell.”

            Daisy smacked his arm. “It wasn’t _Stefan’s_ fault, it was _yours_ ,” she clarified frostily.

            “Well— _cheerleader camp_ ,” he repeated as a defense, using the same tone he had with Elena.

            “I understand,” Daisy replied, and the wonderful thing was, she really _did_. “We wouldn’t have come after you if it was just the cheerleader camp. But you had to get Elena involved, too, and that’s what sent Stefan over the edge.”

            Damon could have protested that Elena walked in on _him_. But he could’ve gotten away from her, continued snacking on the cheerleaders out of her sight. Or he could’ve taken them somewhere Elena was unlikely to show up. He _could_ have. But he didn’t. He sighed. “She’s just—She’s so—“

            “I know,” Daisy agreed.

            “She’s just so _right_ ,” he insisted. “Why does she have to be that way? Why can’t she—“

            “That’s her choice,” Daisy replied, rubbing the back of his head and neck. “She’s not gonna hurt you. She’s not Ka—“

            “I know, I know,” Damon muttered, not wanting to hear the name. “I just look at her and I think—what would her face look like if I burned the world down around her? Would she be horrified? Or would she be laughing?”

            “Elena would be horrified,” Daisy assured him. Katherine would’ve been laughing. And Damon honestly wasn’t sure which he would prefer. Except maybe—

            “And what would _you_ be doing?” he asked Daisy in a lighter tone, resting his hand on her thigh.

            “While you burned the world down?” she asked. “I’d probably… raise an eyebrow,” she decided, demonstrating. “Maybe toast some marshmallows.” Damon laughed a little at that. “But I wouldn’t let you burn it down,” she assured him.

            “You wouldn’t, huh?” The thought was oddly comforting to him.

            She shook her head. “The world would be too boring if it was nothing but ashes.”

            “Yeah, boredom,” Damon agreed. “That’s a killer.”

 

            Damon didn’t even bother getting dressed after his second shower of the evening—he just climbed into bed and started nuzzling Daisy’s neck. She made a sleepy noise of protest. “Oh come on,” he cajoled. “You slept all the way home in the car. You didn’t even wake up when I carried you up here. How much more sleep do you need?”

            “A few more hours. Can you wait?” she asked.

            Well, he supposed he _could_. “You’ll make it worth my while?” he checked, just because he was _him_.

            She smiled a little against his chest, where she’d settled. “Promise.”

            “Okay.”

            For a few minutes they lay there quietly. Damon was wide awake, though, and _thinking_ , so it was only a matter of time before he spoke again.

            “Are you angry at me?” he finally asked her, needing more information for his contemplations.

            “Well, you said you’d let me sleep, and you’re still talking,” Daisy pointed out sleepily.

            “I meant about earlier.”

            “Covered that.”

            “I know, I got it, don’t disturb the little narcoleptic’s sleep,” Damon insisted, combing his fingers gently through her hair.

            “And yet…”

            “About the cheerleaders.”

            “You gotta eat,” Daisy replied with a yawn.

            But something else was bothering Damon. “Elena seemed obsessed with the idea that I was… fondling them or something.” Daisy chuckled a little against him. “She used the word _lewd_. I didn’t know people still used that word.” He waited a moment, then, getting no response, gave Daisy a little shake. She muttered something and rolled over, putting her back to him. “Daisy!”

            She turned enough to give him an icy glare that made him momentarily nervous. “You _are_ lewd and you _do_ fondle,” she said distinctly. “But I wouldn’t ask you not to _enjoy_ your food, within reason.”

            “ _That’s_ a loaded phrase,” Damon observed.

            “I have a feeling that what you were doing to that _one particular girl_ ”—no need to specify which one she meant, Damon grimaced and brushed at his face reflexively—“was _not_ within reason,” Daisy judged. “But you got what you deserved.” She waited to see if he would say anything else. “Have I reaffirmed the parameters of our relationship sufficiently?” she asked.

            He knew she was ticked because her language became more formal. “Yes, thank you,” Damon replied, scooting up close behind her. “You should really get some sleep now. If you’re tired, that is.” Daisy huffed in exasperation and closed her eyes.

 

_Epilogue_

            Early the next morning Stefan was quietly slipping downstairs when he heard something in the kitchen and went to investigate. Damon was there—once again having just rolled out of bed and fortunately deigned to put _some_ clothing on—staring assiduously at something cooking on the stove. He looked up and saw Stefan still wearing his clothes from the night before. Both brothers raised an eyebrow at the other.

            “I’m staying at a hotel with Elena this weekend,” Stefan explained, losing the game of chicken. “I just ran back to pick up some stuff.” He indicated the bag he was carrying.

            “I’m making pancakes for Daisy,” Damon told him in return. He flipped the cake expertly in the skillet.

            Stefan blinked at him. “You can’t toast Pop-Tarts, but you can make pancakes?”

            “Daisy doesn’t _like_ Pop-Tarts,” Damon said in an accusatory tone. “So, lame suggestion.”

            “Sorry,” Stefan replied, rolling his eyes. “Where’s the car keys?”

            “Over there,” Damon said, waving his hand in a random direction as he watched the pancake brown.

            Stefan found the keys on a table in the _opposite_ direction. “This is precision engineering,” Damon claimed when his brother complained. He slid the pancake onto a plate. “Daisy is very particular about her breakfast.”

            Stefan just shook his head. “I’ll be back Sunday.” He thought about asking Damon not to leave the house a mess, but then he realized that would probably insure that a mess was made. He headed out to the garage instead.

            A moment later Stefan returned to the kitchen. “There’s no air in the tires,” he stated coolly, trying to rein in his exasperation.

            “The neighborhood kids are getting vicious,” Damon sympathized, cooking another pancake. “Would a scarecrow get rid of them, do you think?”

            Stefan dropped the useless car keys on the counter. “Where are the keys to _your_ car?”

            There was momentary satisfaction in the expression of displeased surprise on Damon’s face. “Oh no, you’re not taking the ‘Vette,” he objected immediately.

            “I’m not making Elena ride the _bus_ back home,” Stefan stated firmly.

            Damon narrowed his eyes at his brother. “Fine,” he agreed gracelessly. “They’re on the hall table. But I better not find _one scratch_ —wait, who am I kidding?” he mocked as Stefan got the keys. “It’s _you_. If you ever scratched _any_ car, you’d probably commit _seppuku_ out of shame.”

            “Yes, a ritual disemboweling is my usual response to life’s little difficulties,” Stefan said dryly, and Damon laughed. “Get the tires fixed,” he added, closing the door between them before Damon could get the last word in.

            At the stove, Damon flipped another pancake and contemplated what he could do to Stefan’s car _after_ he’d refilled the tires. A backseat stuffed full of packing peanuts came to mind.


End file.
